Dancing With Monsters
by Moonunit
Summary: This is a John and Sherlock friendship fic it's main focus is that. A client asks Sherlock to find her rapist a man who might have faked his own death
1. Chapter 1

Hello, thank you for the reviews for Surrounded By Wolves… It was something I simply needed to write, no matter how painful. The reviews really touched me and that means so much for me. I am working on a sequel. This is not it. Enjoy. This is a totally different story. Mental Hug ~Moonunit

Warnings: Has some dark themes. Yet there is humor throughout the story. Mostly, I focus on John's and Sherlock's friendship instead of plot. I tried to do everything in a respectful tone. Thank you for letting me share my love of fanfiction and these wonderful characters…

Notes: I do not own these characters or the brilliant show that is 'Sherlock'. I am simply an obsessed fan that wants to share a little tale, be it good or not.

Also, Sorry this story has *NOT* been beta'd. So yeah, that means this will probably be the worst story *ever*. You have been warned!

~*~Part 1~*~

~The 'he' is Sherlock, and the 'I' is Watson~

'_Do you include violin playing in your category of rows?' he asked, anxiously._

'_It depends on the player,' I answered. 'A well-played violin is a treat for the gods-a badly played one…'_

'_Oh, that's all right,' he cried, with a merry laugh._

-'A Study in Scarlet' by Arthur Conan Doyle

Sherlock Holmes calmly played his violin. The notes beautiful and very precise, which held an almost haunting feel to it.

He glanced out his window to notice a nicely dressed young woman standing outside his flat. He rolled his eyes as he thought she just might be there about a doomed love affair. Yet as he gave her another look there were things about her that instantly changed his mind.

He turned away from the window and quickly tried to finish the song he was playing. He hated stopping. He was not a man to be ruled by something as silly as feelings yet to stop in the middle of the music he created felt off. So very wrong. As if the universe was suddenly out of balance.

So perhaps much like a mad man his fingers danced and his bow moved faster. Knowing that any second his possible client would ring his blasted bell with that shaking finger of hers.

She was a very nervous and fearful woman. The young lady had looked around her as if she was worried about being followed. Also a weapon was concealed in her handbag…

So she was definitely not here about a doomed love affair. Could be interesting, perhaps not at all boring. There was always a good reason to be hopeful, even if it didn't involve a good murder.

The bell rang.

The song he played moved along at an even faster pace. The song was not meant to be played this way but he was determined to finish it.

Plus, he knew that if the bell rang out once more there was a good chance Mrs. Hudson, his landlady never his housekeeper, would answer the door and lead her up the stairs to his rooms. She knew he was playing and would not stop until he was ready too, or at least until the song he played was finished.

The bell rang once more.

He continued to play as he waited…

He eyed the doorway, calmly, and it wasn't very long before he saw Mrs. Hudson.

"Client!" She informed him as if he hadn't already realized that fact. She moved to the side to reveal the young woman he had watched from his window. Mrs. Hudson moved her hands as if she were a model showing off a grand prize.

He turned his back on them both and allowed his song to continue, slowing it down to its normal beautiful pace.

"Just go on in, my dear, and sit down. He'll talk to you when he's ready." He heard Mrs. Hudson say over the music he made.

He closed his eyes; he knew the song was coming to an end. At least when it was done he'd have a new game to play. It wouldn't be music but there was hope that maybe the new game, new case would be an interesting one.

There was, however, a chance that the case will be too stupid to take. If it was, at least, he had some feet he could experiment on that just so happened to be in his fridge.

Sherlock gave a soft sigh as the last note played out. He removed the violin from where it had rested; his hand still held it and his other hand held the bow. He turned around to face her, to notice that she had stepped into his room yet stood there silent, to curiously look around her new setting. He quickly moved towards her to use his bow as a pointer to let her notice his sofa.

"Sit." Sherlock just as suddenly moved away from her to his case that sat in John's chair. He placed the violin very slowly in its case as he thought about what he just witnessed. What his great detection skills told him.

She had jerked away from his as if she almost expected something violently bad to happen and the wide-eyed terror in her brown eyes.

Sherlock turned his head to look back at her. She now sat on his sofa. Sitting almost as close to the door as possible, feet aimed towards it. She sat right on the edge as if at any second she would be willing to spring out it and never to return. She nervously clutched her handbag that rested in her lap.

He closed the lid and he knew he'd have to play at being a nice, charming host.

"Like some tea?" He questioned softly. He wanted to calm down his unwelcomed guest.

She blinked at him in complete surprise as if she hadn't expected him to be such a wonderful, delightful host. Really? Simply because he never offered tea to any of his other clients before didn't mean that he was a bad host. Nor was he planning to ask that question to any of 'them' ever again. If no one liked it they could simply go away.

He took a few steps backwards to sit in his own familiar chair. Distance would perhaps make the girl feel safer. He turned his head to attempt to patiently await her answer. How long does it take to decide on some blasted tea anyway?

"Um, if it's no bother that would be lovely."

"No, it's no bother at all." Sherlock said in a soft voice before yelling at the top of his lungs, "MRS. HUDSON! TEA! NOW!"

He noticed his client's startled jump.

"She always has some ready." He explained in a normal tone before yelling once more, "AND BRING A CUP FOR YOURSELF!"

His fingers tapped impatiently upon the top of his armchair. Feet moving restlessly, hating to wait but knew Mrs. Hudson should be in the room before his client felt comfortable enough to share her story with him.

She seemed to know this or perhaps she was trying to find the correct words to start her tale. Some clients needed time. Some even seemed to know that if the story wasn't interesting enough he'd reject them very quickly and send them on their way.

They sat in silence before they heard the sound of cups lightly rattling as Mrs. Hudson carefully climbed the stairs. She entered with a look of exasperation on her sweet face.

"Sherlock," She scolded him. "Really, must you yell?"

She sat down the slightly heavy tray.

Sherlock shrugged as she poured the tea. "You never seem to hear me if I ask for you in a normal tone. Plus, the last time I texted you, you didn't respond to my request." He said the last bit of that sentence with an offended glare.

After handing the cup of tea to his client she quickly handed him one.

"That's because you texted me at one in the morning! I was asleep!"

"As if that is a reasonable excuse, you still should have replied. John, no matter what time I text, he replies. Even if it's to tell me to piss off and not to text him for another five hours. Really, Mrs. Hudson, it's so very rude of you not to reply."

"Oh, like you're one to teach me manners!"

"Someone should." He muttered darkly, before sipping his hot tea.

She sighed with a shake of her head before asking curiously, "You requested that I bring a cuppa for myself?"

He gestured towards the sofa. The empty spot near his client. "Go sit. Seeing that she's a victim of rape a woman's presence will help things along. Make her feel safe and what not. Let's hope whatever she has to say won't be boring. I do have some feet in the fridge that I'd like to get to at some point today."

"H-How did…?" His client questioned dark eyes wide and face sickly pale. Her slightly shaking hand pushed some of her dark hair away from her eyes.

Mrs. Hudson sat down next to her with a heartfelt sigh, "Don't mind him, dear, he's a bit of a show off. His best friend keeps reminding him not to be so showy but he never listens. One day someone is going to punch him in the face, and then perhaps he'll listen. That or he'll be too unconscious to hear anything."

Sherlock rolled his eyes before sitting down his cup of hot tea. "Do, please, shut up."

"He knows things instantly about people," Mrs. Hudson continued, "The 'Science of Observation' he calls it. John finds his skills simply amazing and wonderful, which they can be, though others find it quite annoying."

Sherlock took the time to glare at her with narrowed eyes. "I call it the 'Science of *Deduction*' not observation. You'd know this if you had ever spent time on my website."

Mrs. Hudson shrugged before replying, "Oh, right, because I really need to know about the differences of over 200 types of tobacco ash and the different types of wool or perfume."

"They are interesting subjects!"

"To some people, maybe, to me, I can't say I find it at all fascinating."

"Do you want to know what I find fascinating? You and Mrs. Turner went out last night and got yourselves bikini waxes and it's not even swimsuit season!"

"We are going out on a double date tomorrow. They're brothers! Twins no less. Handsome, really. We are both hoping for some fun…You know, it's been so long since I've had—"

"Brothers!" Sherlock cut her off, pressing his fingers together near his chin. "Twins! Yes, that just might explain so much."

Mrs. Hudson tilted her head questioningly, "Explain what, dear?"

"Moriarty." He stated with reverence.

"Excuse me, Mr. Holmes, but I'm still here." His client stated nervously.

Sherlock allowed himself to glance her way. "Yes, that is so very obvious. Anyway, tell me, has Mrs. Hudson's calming presence helped make you comfortable?"

"Yes, thank you so much, Mr. Holmes and Mrs. Hudson."

"No problem, dear." Mrs. Hudson told her kindly.

"Please Mr. Holmes tell me how you knew I'd been…um, you know…"

Sherlock reached over to pick up his tea with a smile. He did enjoy showing off, what John would call his amazing talent.

"The way you jumped when I took as few steps towards you. The fear I saw, well most women don't act that way unless I point a harpoon at them. Your body language also told me that the shaking of hands would not be welcomed. You carry a weapon in your handbag. A gun, your father's, I'm guessing seeing that old military charm on your bracelet. In honor of his service no doubt. Perhaps you even have other family members who have served or are serving. The fact that the charm is close to the charm that says 'Dad' tells me that it's very likely that he's the main one you wear that charm for. Military men also are known to keep weapons such as a gun even though they are not supposed to. I can also tell that you are diabetic. You tested your blood a while ago. I can see a faint mark on your finger where you poked yourself. You must not have liked your glucose numbers for you walked quite a long way going by the two different types of fresh mud on your shoes, instead of taking some type of public transportation. The little bit of frosting on the edge of your sleeve and the crumbles on your blouse tells me that you had a breakfast not really appropriate for a diabetic but you needed a comfort food did you not? For you were about to go visit a stranger, a man you were completely unfamiliar with, for help of some sort. You also have a cat. Black, long hair. Tell me, was I right about anything?"

Sherlock enjoyed the stunned look on the young woman's face.

"Um, only about the cat, Bumbum belongs to my friend who's out of town for a month. I get the mail and check in on her most days before I get started on the rest of my day. You were, however correct on everything else."

Sherlock sighed, "There is always something…Anyway, go ahead tell me what you want and start with your name."

"Stephanie Owenson," she informed him quietly. "I want you to find the other man who…who…hurt me."

Sherlock glanced over at her in concern and spoke just as quietly back at her, "The other man?"

She gave a shameful nod, looking as if she wished she was somewhere else. She swallowed hard and breathed a little shakily. Looking at her pale clinched hands upon her handbag, she continued, in an even softer voice, "I was fourteen when it happened. I had been at the library and stayed later than I should have. Mum always told me I had to pay more attention to the time…Anyway, on my way home a man grabbed me. Him and his friend. They took me to what seemed like an old abandoned factory. They…They did things, Mr. Holmes."

Mrs. Hudson reached out her hand to lightly place it upon the younger woman's hand. The hand she touched let go of the bag to clench the friendly hand that was freely offered.

"It…It was a nightmare. Pure hell. I still remember how they laughed at my screams and…" She cut off momentarily as she shook her head. The memory obviously still painful, forever burning around the edges of her mind. "It was bad. Real bad. They stabbed me a few times with a knife afterwards. Will always have the scars. Always. They left me for dead. The police told me that those two had abducted other girls before, some even younger than me. I was lucky or so I was told. Only one to have survived out of all the other cases. They found one of the men. There was even a trial and he went to prison. Thing is he swears his friend and partner jumped off a bridge and killed himself."

Stephanie stopped and looked up. Her tears made her cheeks wet, but now there was a slight hardness in her red eyes that hadn't been there before. Sherlock narrowed his eyes as a thought began to take shape. His client's voice now harsh as she continued…

"The police, they investigated, and found some witnesses that stated that, yes, he jumped off that bridge. Thing is they never found a body, Mr. Holmes. I also know that you happened to fake your own death. Right off the roof of Bart's Hospital. People saw you do it and yet…here you are! I'm sure this man isn't as brilliant as you but I feel my fear is reasonable. Plus, over the years, I swore I've seen him. My therapist tells me that I'm mistaken, mind playing tricks…For the times I've seen him have been glances or moments…Hard to explain really. Sometimes I feel as if I'm being watched…and once, I was riding a bike in the park and I could have sworn he was behind me. He kept a reasonable distance on his own bike. When I stopped, he would stop. I don't like feeling like I'm still his prey. I'm no longer one of his bloody victims! I want proof that he is dead or proof that he is alive. If he is alive I want him found…"

"And given over to the police…" Sherlock stated almost too casually.

Stephanie shrugged, "Sure, though if you find him…please…give me a chance to hit him. I need to face my demon, Mr. Holmes. He's haunted my dreams and all my waking moments, I-I…need some peace. Please, Mr. Holmes, please help me find it."

Sherlock slowly blinked at her, to study her intensely. Quiet for a long time, after a while, he looked back to John's chair. His fingertips pressed together, resting under his chin…

For an odd moment, he thought his best friend was there. Sitting comfortably in front of him, staring back at Sherlock, and waiting for his answer.

"Of course, I'm taking the case." Sherlock told John.

He didn't bother to notice Miss Owenson's overwhelming relief over his statement.

As if there had ever been a question or even a doubt, that he'd not take this case.

The feet in the fridge would have to wait.

Sherlock Holmes had a monster to find.

~*~End of part 1~*~

Another part will be coming soon! Maybe even tomorrow… Have a great day~


	2. Chapter 2

Mental hug to you all. This will perhaps be a bit of an emotional roller-coaster ride! ~Moonunit

~*~Part 2~*~

'…_So it was, my dear Watson, that at two o'clock today I found myself in my old armchair in my own old room and only wishing that I could have seen my old friend Watson in the other chair which he so often adorned…'_

~The Empty House by Arthur Conan Doyle

Sherlock Holmes studied the collage of the file and pictures he'd placed on the wall. Pictures of the men in question. Items and statements the police found important. A few more of his own that he felt they had stupidly missed. A map with colorful pens sticking out and other data that he thought relevant.

He had received the file from Stephanie Owenson's Uncle who just so happen to be a police officer.

"If the bastard is still alive, here's the file, hopefully it will help." He had told Sherlock, handing over the file.

Maybe it would help, maybe it wouldn't. It was all part of the interesting game…

"My God!"

Sherlock jerked slightly and looked over at his best friend, Doctor John Watson. He hadn't noticed that John had come to visit until he had spoken out loud.

He noticed horror on John's face. His eyes were focused on one of the worst pictures of a fourteen year old Stephanie Owenson. She was bruised from head to toe. Stitched wounds and ugly bruises covered the poor girl. When Sherlock looked at the picture he saw a strong survivor. A survivor who should have died yet lived. She made herself not be another victim.

The marks…The wounds…It seemed impossible that she could still be alive until one looked into those fearful young eyes. The fear was also mixed with a slight steel and overwhelming determination to live. Sherlock could honestly respect that.

He reached over to savagely yank the picture off the wall. His good friend had the bad habit of never seeing what he, himself was seeing. For John was an emotional soul and perhaps didn't need to see such a brutal painful picture. He cradled the photo to his chest, tenderly touching the back of it before he stepped off the coffee table he'd been standing on.

"It's a case I'm working on." Sherlock stated pointlessly. "Two child molesters, one of them caught and in prison. Another one…well, I'm going to find him. There is a chance he faked his own death. A very strong chance, actually."

"Well, you would know all about that, wouldn't you?" John questioned with heavy sarcasm and perhaps just a little bitterness.

Sherlock looked at his friend sharply. "I said I was sorry and you said you forgave me!"

John nodded, "Yeah, I recall that happening, sure, for I'm a very forgiving man. Yet, that doesn't mean that there won't be times when I think about what you did with a sudden desire to punch you hard in the face." He flashed Sherlock a friendly if not mischievous grin.

Sherlock sat the picture down, face down, near his laptop. "You did punch me and head-butted me. Hell, you even tried to strangle me as I recall!"

"Right. Those were good times." John told him dryly moving towards his chair to sit down. About a day ago, Sherlock had removed his violin case and it now rested in the corner.

"Well…I might have deserved it." Sherlock muttered, moving towards his own chair.

"Might have?" John questioned. Rubbing his hands along the arm rests.

Sherlock sighed. "Alright, I did deserve it, I was an arse."

"Wow. Big of you to admit that…" John made a show of studying his chair. "Now, that I've worked everything out with Mary are you going to take away my chair again?"

Sherlock was silent for a long time. Studying John from his own familiar chair. John simply studied him in return.

"Sherlock?"

"I lied when I said it blocked my view of the kitchen." Sherlock softly admitted.

"Oh. Going to tell me why you moved it then?"

Sherlock thought about it finally coming to a decision with a sigh. "The day of your wedding…Before getting ready for it. That chair, your chair, was empty. After hearing so many people tell me how your marriage would change things. How it would change our friendship…Well…When I came back to our flat after the wedding…You and Mary, were so happy about the future. That stupid, bloody chair was a reminder that I was alone. So, of course, I moved it right away. Placed it in to your old room and shut the door. Took you a whole month to come by and notice it was missing. I'm still a little bitter about that, let me tell you. I missed you. "

John sighed and rubbed a hand against his own face. "I could have called. I could have stopped by. I do know how to text. I've no excuse, Sherlock, none. Life gets moving and it gets busy so busy that sadly I end up missing a lot of things. Important things. I really missed you too, Sherlock."

After that was said, the two men sat in comfortable silence that only best friends and former flat mates could share.

"I know." Sherlock stated after a time. "I also understand…I've learned something from that experience, John. That chair will always be there as well as your bedroom."

"Nice, Sherlock, real nice of you…Though I'm pretty certain I'm not ever moving back here.

Sherlock shrugged at John's words, "You might sleepover once and awhile. For a case, or if Mary kicks you out…You never know really. Something could come up. Perhaps, there will come a day where you, Mary and the baby might need a place to stay and you now know you will always have one."

The great detective suddenly sprang out of his chair and seemed to dance to his laptop. "Reminds me, we need to buy a baby bed for when that happens!" He added merrily.

If Sherlock had bothered to look John's way he would have seen a man frozen in complete shock. Sherlock was too busy searching the net.

"Are you okay with a three star rating on baby beds? For we are not going with a two star rating. Though four would be much better but, wow, they are pricey!"

"Sherlock…" John attempted to cut into Sherlock's excitement and hopefully face reality.

"Seriously, who would spend that much on a baby bed? Plus, don't children grow quickly?"

"Sherlock, I promise, we will visit a lot and I do mean a lot…"

"Well…If you want to spend that much money I won't judge you…At least, not too badly. If you need to borrow my card, please let me know."

"But we aren't sleeping over, Sherlock! Ever!"

"Yes, you will."

John shook his head, "No, Sherlock, there is not enough room!"

Sherlock looked around. "Yes, there is especially when you lose those pesky seven pounds and when Mary loses the weight she's gained since the baby. Even if neither of you lose the weight there is still room!"

"No, there really isn't."

Sherlock threw his hands into the air at John's crazy words. "Fine! If you feel you need more room, you, Mary and the little one can use flat 221C, no one ever wants to use it."

"No one uses it because the flat is already occupied by mold. Lots of ugly, evil mold."

"John, we have dealt with psychopaths, serial killers, terrorists, blackmailers, bullies, assassins and top grade assholes, I'm pretty certain we can handle mold!"

"I saw the mold down there with my very own eyes. I have a lot of faith in you, Sherlock, I do, but I honestly think the mold down there will win."

"Fine! One day I'll prove you wrong but, fine. Just be warned, you will always have a home here."

"That's good to know, Sherlock." John stated, standing up and moving towards the kitchen. "Is there anything good to drink?"

"You're favorite bottle of beer is near the feet in the fridge."

"Lovely, of course, it would be by the feet." Opening the fridge to grab a beer and looking at the feet in question for a moment before shutting the fridge door. He opened the bottle to take a deep drink, before walking back to where Sherlock was leaning over his laptop.

John carefully picked up the picture of Stephanie Owenson to study it with sad almost angry soulful eyes.

"This is what those two monsters…" He jerked his head towards the pictures of the men in question. "…did to this young girl?"

"Yes." Sherlock stated quietly. "There are others. All young girls, she was the only survivor. The police told her that she was lucky."

John slowly moved towards the collage on the wall. He placed the picture back exactly where Sherlock had originally had it. Rubbing the tape to hold it in place.

He continued to stare at it, almost sadly. "Lucky? To live through a nightmare and stare death in the face? She probably never felt 'lucky'." John gave a snort and shook his head. "I heard those exact words directed at me once. I never went through what this poor girl went through. I don't dare compare it or completely understand…Her story will never be mine but I do know what it feels like to be called 'lucky' and doubt such a thing to be possible."

John touched the edge of the picture, suddenly lost in a memory. The sound of gun fire and of intense battle. The horror and ugly fear as he had watched the violence go all around him. Friends, men he fought alongside, dying around him. The horrible feeling of when the bullet struck him in the shoulder. The pain of it and the sudden clear certainty that he was going to die…

He came back to sharp reality when he felt a light touch upon his shoulder only for a second before the hand fell away. It had been a really dangerous move, but surprisingly, it magically work. Perhaps because it was Sherlock Holmes who had dared such a move. Sherlock was a man who lived on the edge and he would do anything to keep his best friend from falling over as John followed him…

John suddenly felt as if he could breathe once more, not realizing that he had stopped.

"When did you doubt yourself to be lucky?" Sherlock asked gently. His eyes focused intensely on him.

John closed his eyes. "When do you think? In Afghanistan, when I got wounded and my friend and fellow soldier saved my life at great risk to his own. In the hospital and afterwards so many damn bloody people told me how 'lucky' I was. I didn't feel that way, Sherlock. Not then. Never then. Part of me felt as if I should have been left out there to rot; that maybe I had died but my body was just being slow in catching up."

"Maybe…The people who told you that you were, 'lucky' were trying not to sound selfish." Sherlock stated softly.

John looked over at his friend. There was a look there he had never witnessed before. Face deathly pale and lips trembling slightly.

"For you weren't lucky, John, you're friends and family and more importantly your future friends were the lucky ones. You survived, if-if you hadn't, I would have ended up becoming a very unlucky man who wouldn't have been smart enough to have even noticed that fact."

"Careful, Sherlock," John warned after swallowing around a sudden developed lump in his throat, "I just might catch a glimpse of your great heart behind that great big brain of yours."

Sherlock gave a very shaky smile his way, "If you try to blog about it no one would believe you."

"Yeah, they would see it as total fiction. Except for Molly, maybe." John whispered.

"I am glad you're alive, John, and that I'm a lucky man even if I'm a very selfish man. " Sherlock told him before turning away from his best friend.

John took a deep breath to suddenly say out of nowhere, "When you killed yourself in front of me I thought you had killed me as well."

Sherlock stopped his movement, completely frozen.

John moistened his lips before gathering himself to continue…He didn't know why it was so important to say these words but unlike Sherlock he went with his gut…

"I was once a soldier, who was seriously wounded and told that I wasn't good enough to continue being what I was. A soldier and a doctor. I…I loved the battlefield, Sherlock. Not the horror of it but the fact I knew I was doing something important. It was also an adventure. I felt as if I suddenly went from being someone important to becoming a nobody. I was forced to become a boring civilian. I felt dead inside. I was wounded physically as well as mentally. Nothing ever happened to me anymore, Sherlock, nothing. I was bored and each day I wondered why in the hell was I alive. I was a doctor who didn't know how to heal myself. Then…One day, I met you. Suddenly, I felt alive and I felt myself start to heal. Truly heal and I was thankful, Sherlock, thankful to have you in my life. Yes, you annoyed me greatly but…at least, I no longer wondered why in the hell did I live…"

John stopped for a moment, to catch his breath…

"Only two people in this whole damn would have made me feel alive. Mary and you. When you died…When I thought you had died. I was forced back into nothingness. I felt as if they should have placed me into that fake coffin of yours. Maybe you should have let Moriarty's man take that bloody shot, because with you dead I was dead too."

John cleared his throat, "I just wanted you to know that. The heart of the matter is, you are not the only selfish bastard around here. You were right about me needing a certain life style. I'm an addict to the adventure that you provide without even trying. You make life enjoyable. Before Mary, you kept me from hating my life. No matter how annoying or cruel you can be I will always be your damn friend. Forgiving you and standing beside you. Always. Even if we go a day, a month, two years or God forbid ten years without seeing each other. I am your friend, Sherlock, no matter what happens."

"Good to know…" Sherlock breathed, he still didn't turn to face him as he rubbed at his face.

John nodded, "Just be warned if you do happen to decide to fake your death again, I'm going to regrow the mustache that you hate. Perhaps even grow a big crazy beard!"

Sherlock whirled around to face his friend in complete terror. His eyes seemed extra bright and slightly wet.

Sherlock Holmes was not known to cry so John just accepted that it must be an illusion given off of the bright light from the windows.

"That-That's just evil!" Sherlock shouted.

John shrugged, saying dryly, "Most forms of revenge are just that, evil."

Sherlock took a deep breath. "I'm not planning on ever hurting you like that again, John, I don't want to do that again."

"Good to know…" John repeated Sherlock's earlier words back at him.

"I can't promise, though I really wish I could." Sherlock admitted softly.

"You don't need to promise, Sherlock. I just need you to continue to be you. Funny thing I use to think I was the normal one in our relationship. There will be times I will continue to pretend that I am the normal one."

"Whatever makes you happy, John…So let's say by chance that I do need to fake my death again…Would you seriously grow a beard?" He asked in overwhelming horror that only a true drama queen could actually pull off.

John turned back to look at Sherlock's collage, "So how are we going to catch this bastard?" Attempting to change the subject.

"Seriously…A BEARD! Mary would *never* allow it!"

John shot him a glare.

Forcing Sherlock to quickly continue, "Not that I would do such a cruel and despicable thing as fake my death again…but…seriously…a beard…You can't grow a beard, John! I'm going to tell Mary on you…She'll put a stop to such madness!"

*End of Part 2*


	3. Chapter 3

_~*~Part 3~*~_

'_What is the meaning of it, Watson?' Said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. 'What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable'…_

~The Cardboard Box by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Sherlock walked side by side. The air around them felt crisp and a little damp as they wondered down the not so busy sidewalk.

"So, Miss Owenson has stated she sees glimpses of this man and at times he seems to follow her around. Not all the time. Yet, you say there is a pattern…" John stated, wanting to know more.

"Yes, there is. Luckily, she keeps a detailed journal. Many journals, actually, with the dates and times of each experience over the years and other stupid nonsense."

"Nonsense?" John questioned.

"I don't care that…" Sherlock's voice suddenly took a mocking tone, "Aunt Millie just made the most heavenly chocolate cake! It was so delicious! I simply had to have another piece. I hope I don't lose a foot."

"What?"

"She's diabetic."

"Oh."

"She didn't notice the pattern for it seemed much too random to her but it wasn't. If you also look at the other cases as well, the past and even the ones leading to the present…For a wolf always stays just that—a wolf. The wolf won't suddenly turn into a rabbit or a declawed kitten. Even if that wolf loses a member of its pack the wolf will still always hunt."

"You think he has a new partner?" John asked.

"No. What do you think this child molester will do? Put out an ad, do some interviews? Too much work and there's a chance the police will come knocking. He trusted his partner or at least knew how to control him. Hell, he had him lie for him and those so called witnesses to the suicide…Distant cousins, three times removed."

"So he did indeed fake his death?"

"He left the area and more than likely changed his looks. Yet, he kept right on hunting." Sherlock said the last word with deep disgust.

"If it's true that he's still hunting then there have been other children…"

"Yes, other children who have lived through a nightmare. His partner got off on the killing. This one, sure he enjoyed the fear and rape of his victims…With all the files I've looked at there is no doubt about that. I do believe he learned something very important with Miss Owenson. He liked them alive, knowing his victims still think about him, fear him; it makes the bastard feel powerful…" Sherlock informed him with a bit of anger in his tone.

"Jesus…" John whispered before saying, "You've given this a lot of thought."

"I give a lot of things a lot of thought. That is what I do. I did, however, look up some sick and twisted profiles online. I got a lot of classified profiles when I borrowed my brother's laptop…One just knows has to know how to look when using it…"

"Mycroft actually let you near his laptop?" John asked in total shock. Remembering quite well what happened the last time Sherlock 'borrowed' his brother's laptop.

"It was easy to do. I have a key to his house and I know how to get past his security. I also know his schedule…When exactly he takes what he calls 'power naps' or when does his much needed exercise . Plus, the one I used wasn't at all important. It's the one he keeps in his library. It's mostly a decoy. He keeps a couple of those lying around, to fool any stupid thieves. Anyway, what my dear brother doesn't know won't bother me any and if he did happen to find out it still wouldn't bother me any. He will just have to accept me the way I am, much like you do."

"Hmm, right. Though I'm sure he'll never learn to do that, Sherlock." John stated dryly with a little eye roll.

"True…" Sherlock said sadly, with a nod before continuing, "I don't often go to great extremes to borrow Mycroft's decoy laptop. Though being a decoy it does have its uses. It has some powerful programs and search engines, and certain things that normal laptops don't have."

"And he just leaves this decoy just laying about?"

"People are stupid. They see the decoy and think 'this is a simple steal'…They take it and it's filled with lies and misdirects. Though with some key words and codes you can find out the truth yet some of the fiction in there is hilarious. There is even a line that says Britain is run by a large pink rabbit."

"A large pink rabbit?" John asked, trying not to smile.

"God save the rabbit…" Sherlock told him, not at all hiding his smile.

"So…Does he have other decoy laptops?" John thought to ask after a moment of comfortable silence.

"Of course."

"Do you use any of those?"

"No. Why should I?"

"Hmm…"

"What?"

"Well, I wouldn't be at all surprised that he knows when you borrow it and what you've looked at." John stated calmly.

"Oh, that is highly doubtful."

"Hmm…"

"It is, John, very doubtful."

John simply gave him a look. "Tell me this, after you borrow this decoy laptop of his, do you get a 'surprise' visit from him a day or two afterwards? Perhaps he tells you that he's simply checking in on you…"

Sherlock stopped walking, his eyes narrowed. "Damn."

John nodded. "Told you so."

"Oh, shut up!" Sherlock shouted before he started moving once more, brushing by John purposely forcing him to follow a few steps behind.

John simply chuckled before he became serious once more, "Hey listen, Sherlock, when I showed up this morning I meant to warn you about something."

Sherlock allowed John to catch up with him so they were once again walking side by side. Sherlock gave him a glace. "A warning?"

"Have you ever seen a picture of Harry?"

"No."

"Then think of this as a heads up. A woman you've never met might come up to you one day very soon and slap you. Or maybe even punch you; she could even hurt you in the groin area."

"Why?!"

"Harry is mad at me and I do mean seriously mad at me."

Sherlock allowed his surprise to shine through as he asked in true bewilderment, "And because your dear, sweet sister is mad at *you* I have to protect *my* groin?"

"Yes." John stated calmly with a nod.

Sherlock gave him a look as he waited impatiently for an explanation.

John sighed. "For some time now Harry has wanted Mary and I to come over for dinner. Meet her new girlfriend. Life has been busy and to be honest I haven't been in the mood to have dinner with my sister. You know we don't get along. For we usually end up in some type of argument. This time it was a very heated type of argument. It was a very heated and very ugly one, in fact."

"So heated and ugly my groin is now in serious danger?"

"Yes. At least, I've given you a warning. What type of best friend would I be if I didn't warn you?" John asked carefully.

"I don't want to be hurt in the groin area because of a stupid argument with your sister!" Sherlock growled at him.

"It wasn't stupid, Sherlock!" John shouted at him before stating in a normal tone. "It wasn't stupid at all."

His eyes narrowed once more this time; however, there was something dangerous within those eyes. "Was the argument about me?"

John suddenly looked straight ahead. Lips thin and jaw tightly clenched for a moment before he admitted, "In a way."

"In a way? John, my groin is in serious danger here; I believe it's my right to know more about this argument…"

John's step quicken, "Where exactly are we going?" He was obviously trying to change the subject.

"Another block or so…You must tell me, John. You know you can't change the subject with me unless I allow it and I'm not allowing it."

"Sherlock, really, mate, it's nothing."

"Doesn't sound like nothing to me. In fact, anytime my groin is threatened I don't conceder it nothing!"

"Fine!" John growled, "Here is the rest of the bloody story. After her new girlfriend told a supposedly amusing tale about how my dear sister, as a favor to a friend, went to pick up her child from daycare…a child who had a totally different sex and skin pigment…I honestly told them that I was happy that there was papers in the works that stated that our daughter or any other future children will have Sherlock Holmes as their legal guardian should anything happen to Mary or me. I wouldn't trust her with a child's toy much less my own flesh and blood…Hell, I remember how she treated my toys and hers growing up…Trust me, it wasn't good."

John never noticed Sherlock's sudden stop as he continued his rant.

"Honestly, my sister is bat shit crazy! She hates children, not hates, hate them but there is a very strong dislike. She has told me repeatedly over the years that she doesn't like them. Sure, she'll love any nieces or nephews she'd get but she's happy that she'd not have to live with them day in and day out! Plus, she'll still be able to see them…It's not like you'll keep them away from her. You are not that cruel of a person and if you did happen to decide to not let her see them then I'd trust you to have a very good reason!"

John finally noticed that Sherlock had stopped and quickly walked back towards him. Not caring that Sherlock looked frozen much the same way he'd looked the day John asked him to be his best man. He continued on with his rant, gesturing with his hands, "And then she dares to bring up your past drug use. 'He can't be alone with your child' she says, 'he's a well-known drug addict and a madman.' I very kindly reminded her that she is a bloody alcoholic! I even asked her how many drinks she had before we even came over. Her girlfriend laughingly told me that she had started around nine that morning. Making my point, mind you. Also, I pointed out that seeing the dim look in the eyes of Harry's new girlfriend that she had a bit of a drug problem herself. Unlike, my best friend, who agreed to random drug testing and to do his best to stay away from the stuff. After that, the evening ended with me covered in a drink and my sister swearing that she was going to hunt you down and hurt you…She may have said the words…'I'll hit him hard in the balls'…Or something like that."

After John finished his rant, he calmed down enough to watch Sherlock slowly blink before he whispered, "I…I agreed? Me?"

"Yes." The 'you are a total idiot' was not spoken but it was still there.

"I'm…I'm going to be your…daughter's legal guardian should anything…"

"Yes. You are pretty much going to be my daughter's godfather. We've already been over all this, Sherlock!...Oh my God, you filtered it or put us on mute! About a week or so after the country went mental over the return of Moriarty and your brother turned around the plane with you on it…Mary and I came over for that huge dinner party you had. You remember…Mrs. Hudson made you your favorite bisquits…Molly and Greg were even there!"

"Greg?"

"Lestrade." John informed him dryly.

"Oh. Are you sure his name isn't Gavin?"

"It's Greg! Really, you need to learn his name!" John told him in deep aggravation.

"Is that really important to the big scheme of things? His name could be Alice for all I care! You told me all this at a dinner party. A dinner party, John! You know I hate parties…I only had one because it seemed to matter to *you*! I escaped into my mind palace for awhile because for some reason it mattered to you that I be there physically at least."

"It was a lovely party, Sherlock, thanks for attempting to be there…I wanted to celebrate you being able to stay in England. I would have missed you." John stated with some emotion.

"I would have missed you too and you're welcome!" After a moment Sherlock thrust his hands into his pockets, glancing down at the sidewalk. "And…thank you, I'll do my best not to let you down."

"I know you will." John answered honestly. "You made a vow to always be there for Mary, me and our daughter so I know you'll do everything in your power to keep it."

"Yes…" Sherlock said now looking his best friend in the eyes. "And I'm going to make damn sure you and Mary live a long, long time for the thought of raising your daughter feels me with a terror I'm honestly never felt before."

"Welcome to adult hood, Sherlock."

"Oh, piss off!"

~*~END OF PART THREE~*~


	4. Chapter 4

I'm sorry that this part is a bit weak...The last part which I will send, hopefully soon will be better...Maybe. I'll keep my fingers crossed! Mental hug~ Moonunit

* * *

~*~PART 4~*~

'_His face set like flint as he glared at our prisoner, who was sitting up with a dazed face. 'By the Lord, it is as well as you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have left this room alive.'_

~The Three Garridebs by Arthur Conan Doyle

They were now standing outside an old red brick building. It was getting late, not quite dark. The light was fading very slowly.

"I think this is the place." Sherlock informed John. Studying the obvious old business sign.

"You think? So, you are guessing?" John questioned.

"I never guess."

"Oh, don't lie. We both know you do."

"And we both know I'll keep denying it…" Sherlock told John honestly.

John shrugged deciding it was time to change the subject. "So, do you think our child molester is here?"

"No, but if you can do something interesting enough to get me close to their computers I bet I can find where he lives."

"Interesting?"

"Start a fire. Claim to smell gas…Something, John, hell anything!"

"Tell me, you at least know his alias?"

"I have my suspicions, but if I can look at those badge photos…I'm certain that I can and will find him. He'll have dark hair now because before he had been blond and recent child abductions in this area tell of a dark haired man with a scar on his chin. I believe this man has gone back to what he knows. He's a delivery driver. Goes out of town a lot and knows where a lot of old factories would be found."

"Okay…Why should *I* be the one to do something interesting?"

"Why not? You know you'll find it exciting…It'll give you that special thrill that you need so very much.

"True." John sighed.

The glass business door opened and John watched a big dark haired man walk through and start to causally walk away.

"Sherlock?"

Surely, it wouldn't be that easy.

"Yes?"

"He's a dark haired man with a scar on his chin and he kind of matches the picture…"

"Hey, you!" Sherlock shouted, getting the man's attention. He looked back at them and stopped.

"Yeah?"

"Are you the child molester that we're looking for?" Sherlock asked calmly.

"Jesus, Sherlock…" John breathed.

He watched in shock as the man turned and started to run.

Well, it looked like it was simple enough to find the bastard and really only Sherlock Holmes would have that kind of luck.

Sherlock and John, of course, quickly followed. It was a fun adventure, really. The man they were chasing was quick but as always Sherlock knows some shortcuts and was a bit quicker. They even ran up some random fire escape leading to an high roof top. Where the man, Sherlock and John were chasing tripped allowing them to gain on the man.

In fear, the man must have finally remembered a weapon he carried. As he laid upon the roof, he drew a gun.

John, without much thought, acted instantly. Shoving Sherlock aside as the gun went off. Cursing John fell painfully to the ground. Raw agony hit his thigh. A quick look told the good doctor that everything was going to be fine. The bullet hadn't entered his leg, just grazed it.

The wound was bleeding, of course but it was quite superficial.

Sherlock, much to John's surprise, acted like a mad man. Actually, it reminded John of a dangerous jungle cat attacking its prey. Something he'd seen on the telly very recently.

Leaping and taking the weapon even as the gun went off once more. The bullet, luckily, went wild not hitting anyone. Sherlock did however begin to hit the man.

"SHERLOCK!" John called out. "Don't you dare bloody kill him!"

Sherlock came to a sudden stop and swung himself towards his best friend. Leaving the bad man unconscious upon the rooftop.

"Are you okay, John?! Tell me, you're okay!" Sherlock asked in almost a panic.

"I'm fine." John stated very calmly before he ordered. "Give me your scarf."

"What?"

"Your scarf! NOW!" John said in a military tone that forced Sherlock to quickly give him his scarf.

"You know, you'd have a lot more friends if you weren't always so demanding." Sherlock told his best friend, watching him use his scarf on the bleeding wound.

"With you as my friend, I honestly don't need any more." John stated through clenched teeth. Hating the pain.

"Awww, that's so sweet! I feel the exact way!" Sherlock informed him happily.

"Oh, do shut up!" John growled at him before saying with as much decorum as he could. "So…Do you really think he's your man?"

"You told me to shut up, you can't expect me to be quiet and to talk at the same time!" Sherlock said in a completely childish fashion.

"Sherlock, at this very moment, I'm in pain. I will in no way feel guilty about punching you hard in the face. "John told him in a complete honestly.

"I believe he is definitely our man. I do have a couple of calls to make. First one will be to the young woman who put me on this case. Next to the police. They will have to be sent immediately to that bastard's vehicle where they will find a unconscious young girl in the boot of it."

"How to you know…Wait, don't explain it to me, of course you know this, because you are Sherlock Bleeding Holmes. Perhaps you should call the police first and then the woman who hired you." John suggested.

"Well…" Sherlock drew out the word very slowly.

"There is a young girl in the boot of that arse's car! Call the police first, Sherlock!" John demanded vehemently.

"Oh, she's fine, John! Seriously, with the drug he gave her, she should sleep for another good hour or two. I will happily give the young girl to the police yet I promised Miss Owenson that I'd give her a chance to hit him or even kill him, which I think she's most likely to do."

"Kill—SHERLOCK!"

"What?" Sherlock asked John in surprise. "She never said she would kill him. Yet, come on! I'm many things but stupid is not one of them! I know she wants too. She has probably thought about it and fantasied about it for years. I'm not stopping her if she does attempt to kill him. He raped her and his raped others."

"Seriously?" John asked. "You will let her kill him?"

Sherlock was busy texting on his phone to the woman who's case he had now closed. He stopped for a moment and blinked over at him.

"This surprises you? Really?" Sherlock asked in return.

John was quiet for a moment, "It sometimes surprises me, how certain things you do…don't surprise me as much as it should."

Sherlock smiled, "So in other words, I'm never boring even when I'm not surprising you and more importantly, you like me this way…

John couldn't help but smile back.

~*~end of part 4~*~


	5. Chapter 5

Okay, here is the last part…I do hope you enjoy! Mental hug~ Moonunit

* * *

~*~Part 5~*~

'The time has come. You will now be present at the last scene of a remarkable little drama'

-The Abbey Grange by Arthur Conan Doyle

* * *

"So…Stephanie Owenson did not kill the bastard." John stated, not really sure if he was at all that sad about that or not, as he watched the police take the man away in handcuffs.

Darkness had finally fallen and now the blue lights were flashing from the police vehicle.

Sherlock simply shrugged. "She could have though, I wouldn't have stopped her. It was worth catching him to watch her kick him in the groin. Twice."

John chuckled. "I don't normally like seeing such cruel violence but I did, however, love seeing that."

Sherlock gave him a certain look that said so much. "Liar. You are a soldier and you like violence just fine."

This time it was John's turn to shrug, "This is one of those moments that I'm pretending that I don't. I warned you that I'd have these moments."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "If that makes you happy, John."

"It does." John stated dryly. "It makes me very happy. So…Have you any other cases you're working on?"

Sherlock stared at him long and hard. "Before we go out on any more cases together, we are stopping at Bart's to check out that leg."

"It's fine. I'm a doctor, I know these things."

"Yes, you are a doctor, a good one, but still…we are stopping at the hospital." Sherlock told him as he quickly looked at his wrist watch. "Mary texted me earlier, so after Bart's we should, hopefully, be in time for dinner."

"She's making that dish you like with the peas." John quickly added already knowing about Mary's text inviting Sherlock over.

"Then we best be off." Sherlock informed his best friend. Starting to move away. Not quickly, however, for he wanted John to keep up with that hurting leg of his. He had the sudden need to warn John. "We probably won't find a cab for at least another block or two."

"My leg is fine, Sherlock."

"Says the man who is limping with pain filled eyes and who has ruined another one of my scarves!"

"This from a man who doesn't just have many of the exact same type of coats but a drawer jammed packed with the same damn scarves…You can stand losing one!"

John told him grabbing Sherlock's elbow when he almost tripped, cursing under his breath.

"Well, I know that, I'm just surprised about how many I've lost to *_you_* over the years." Sherlock said calmly.

"Two." John stated with certainty.

"Three. Remember the elephant in the room case?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh, right. Still with how many years we've been pals, losing three is not all that bad."

"True. I don't mind, really, for I have a hold drawer of them anyway." Sherlock told him quite honestly.

"Then why are you making a fuss?"

They were still walking side by side.

"I'm not." Sherlock said, watching his friend carefully; at the ready if he should accidently trip once more. "I'm simply making conversation. Molly has informed me that, that is what friends do. Make conversation. Trust me, John; I won't be doing that again."

"Well, it wasn't a bad conversation, really…" John slowly admitted.

"You said I was fussing! I don't ever fuss!" Sherlock denied vehemently.

"Oh, yes, you do…So…How good of a chemist are you?" John asked carefully.

Sherlock blinked at the unexpectedness of such a question, "Actually, I'm better than good. Why?"

John shrugged, "It's my turn to make conversation."

"Oh…Good. Why do you want to have a conversation about chemistry?" Sherlock's curiosity forced him to ask for he'd never known his friend to be interested in chemistry. Ever.

"In Uni, there was a guy that would mix these certain compounds together and put it into some poor bugger's body wash. They would become a bright blue for about a week afterwards."

Sherlock laughed. "A smurf! Oh, that is simple enough to do. One just needs the correct composition of substances."

John chuckled. "Longest week of my life when it happened to me. I hated it but now I can look back and laugh about it."

"So, the amusing idiot didn't give you the compound that would have removed that ghastly shade of blue off of you and I simply must know…were any pictures taken of you at the time?" Sherlock asked, good humor imbedded deep within his tone.

"You mean he could have…Oh, if I ever see that bloody bastard again I will be punching him hard in the face and no, Sherlock, there are no pictures…"

"Liar. One day, I will find them." Sherlock stated with great certainty.

"Good luck with that, Sherlock."

"I don't need luck, John, I could simply turn you blue—"

"Fine! I will find you a picture of me that you can have of me looking like a smurf…if you promise never…and I do mean *_never_* turn my skin blue."

"I don't want to promise. I want to turn someone's skin blue! Preferably someone who is still alive."

John shook his head at his friend's words. He really should have known better.

"It's not my skin you'll turn blue! Or Mary's, not even my daughter's! Anyway, if you really want to turn someone's skin blue, I know the perfect person."

"Gavin?"

"Don't sound so hopeful and his name is Greg and no, not him. I know you played some crazy pranks on me a time or two…um, have you ever played a prank on Mycroft?"

"Years ago, last time I was a teenager…Wait…You think I should turn my dear brother into a smurf?" Sherlock asked with a delighted smile.

"Yeah, I think you should. You have a key to his place and you know his schedule. I also want in on the prank. It sounds like fun." John told his friend truthfully, with his own happy smile. He couldn't help but wonder if the twinkle in his own eyes were as bright as Sherlock's.

"Oh, it will be fun, John, and very dangerous. Perhaps the most dangerous thing we have ever done."

Sherlock hailed the first cab they found and as they mischievously planned out their devilish prank; their laughter danced out into the night. Making the overwhelming darkness around them seem not to be all that bad.

Anyway, the feet in Sherlock's fridge could always wait another day…

~*~END~*~


End file.
